


Through Fog That Sits Like Blankets

by geckoholic



Category: Terminator Genisys (2015)
Genre: Concussions, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-10 00:13:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7822759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/pseuds/geckoholic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sarah didn't quite make it out of the events in San Francisco unscathed. Kyle is at a bit of a loss about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Through Fog That Sits Like Blankets

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mustlovemustypages](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mustlovemustypages/gifts).



> Hopefully this fills your requests for non-angsty, happy-making hurt/comfort. Angst is kinda my default, so I can't always help that, but I tried. :)
> 
> Beta-read by alyse. Thank you!! ♥ All remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> Title is from "All That I Am" by Parachute.

Going back to Los Angeles is Pops idea; he says that it'd be easier to hide in a large city, and besides, time displacement or none, Sarah knows her way around. Kyle supposes that makes sense. All that'd be familiar to him were ruins and work camps, and so it's not like there's any real argument in favor of hanging around San Francisco. The vastness of both cities still baffles him; the flow of people, so many of them, moving unhindered in bright daylight. Flowers and trees. Shops. Restaurants. He'd _heard_ about all that, but _seeing_ it is different. 

They book two rooms in a motel in the part of the city where, Sarah explains, no one will look at them twice as long as they pay in cash and don't cause any property damage. There's a dance club next door, and around nightfall the beats make the walls vibrate faintly. He doesn't care. He's never slept so soundly. 

 

***

 

The morning after they book in, Sarah takes him to breakfast. She orders them pancakes and scrambled eggs and bacon, watches fondly as he devours it all. He's somewhat overwhelmed by how intense it all tastes, the sheer amount of food readily available to him. 

He doesn't notice that she mostly pushed her food around her plate until they've paid and gotten up to leave, and he doesn't think much of it. After all, it's not a new thing to her. She never starved. She could have walked into a diner and ordered whichever food she liked every day of her life. 

 

*** 

 

A shopping spree is the next point of order. Sarah leads them through second hand shops, visibly delighted by picking out the most ridiculously colorful clothes for him and watching him make a face. 

“Guy from the future,” she teases, holding an array of broadly patterned shirts. “Tells me he used to dress in whatever rags available, and yet here he is, picky about fashion.” 

Kyle frowns and shoves them back at her. “They'd stand out. No one else is wearing them. I thought we're supposed to be fugitives from the law and stay under the radar.” 

“Spoilsport.” Sarah rolls her eyes. “Come on, let's find you some nice inconspicuous jeans and a stack of black t-shirts and then get out of here.“ 

They pick out those, and a few shirts for her, pay and leave. Outside the shop, Sarah raises a hand to her temple and blows out a breath. 

“You okay,” Kyle asks, concerned. 

She waves him off. “I'm fine. Let's go back.” 

 

*** 

 

They lose their way twice on the way back to the motel. In the end, Sarah grits her teeth and flags them a taxi. 

Kyle assumes the city has changed enough, in the last couple decades, to throw her for a loop. 

Once they're yet again safely ensconced in their off-the-grid motel room, Sarah toes off her shoes and flops down on the bed. She motions to him for join her, flips the TV on, and curls into his side. It's barely afternoon, but she soon falls asleep, and he lies there, his back propped up against the headboard, feet crossed at the ankle, and cards his fingers through her hair. 

 

*** 

 

She wakes around sundown, and that's when Kyle finally catches on to the fact that something's _wrong_. She peers up at him, forehead creased, confusion painted across her face in broad strokes. 

“Where are we?” she says, shaking her head. “Who... Reese?” 

Her eyes are glassy. She's pale. Kyle raises his hand to feel her forehead, and she ducks away. He sits her up and finds her gaze unfocused, darting across the room like a firefly searching for the way out of a closed window. 

He stands, something ugly and panicked curling in his stomach, paces towards the door, then back a few steps, unsure. 

“Where're you going?” Sarah asks, licking her lips, the words slurred in a way he hasn't heard from her since they met. Which, granted, was about seventy-two hours ago, but... 

“Going to get Pops,” he says. “Stay here. I'll be right back.” 

 

*** 

 

Pops scans her, asks her a few questions, and then turns to Kyle. “It appears she has a concussion. The explosion at the factory, perhaps, or the accident with the bus, or another incident while we fled. She needs rest.” The terminator frowns, and Kyle could swear it looks _concerned_. That still seems impossible, but Kyle's been adjusting his standards for _that_ since he first fell out of time in 1984. “Should she fall asleep, make sure you wake her every hour and check her vitals. She may feel nauseous and vomit. That is perfectly normal. Alert me if her condition worsens beyond that.” 

Sarah glares at both of them, irritated, and opens her mouth, but Pops silences her with a raised hand. He's been with her since she was a child. Sick and annoyed by that fact is probably a version of Sarah they have dealt with before. 

She pouts and lies back on the bed, arms crossed in front of her chest. Kyle lowers himself onto the bed beside her, tries a smile, but sobers his expression when her glare intensifies. 

 

*** 

 

Around midnight, she darts out of bed. Kyle runs after her, gets the bathroom door thrown into his face for his troubles, and listens to the sound of her gagging and heaving from the other side of it. The water runs, and she curses, and when she comes back out, her face is ashen. 

Her second trip to the bathroom happens in much the same way. By the time she's getting up the third time some half an hour later, she allows him to take her weight when she staggers, losing her coordination, and rub soothing circles into her back while she gags and throws up little more than bile. 

They stay in the bathroom after that, sat on the cold tile, with her face pressed to his chest whenever she's not currently hovering over the toilet bowl. She's miserable and not really with it at that point, leaning into him for comfort without shame or reservation, and Kyle had no idea he could love another human being quite this much. 

He listens to the heavy beats of the music that reverberate through the walls, and he holds on. 

 

*** 

 

Morning finds them both with aching and sore from the uncomfortable position, leaning against the bathtub with their legs sprawling every which way, but Sarah's eyes are bright and clear when she rubs her knuckles across them and then blinks at him. 

“I'm gross,” she states and makes to stand up, but Kyle tightens his arms around her, holding her back. He presses his lips to the side of her head, strokes through her hair. Only then does he let her up and rises to his feet himself. 

He points towards the shower and then, awkwardly, at the door. “I should let you, uh.” 

This time it's her, holding him back by grabbing his hand. “You stayed with me while I was green around the gills and puking my guts out. You earned the benefits of staying with me when I'm clear-headed and in the shower.” 

She smiles, not shy but a little unsure, and he laces their fingers together, steps closer, and kisses her. “Any other time, gladly. But not like this. Not as a reward.” 

Then he does leave, letting her shower alone, his eyes on the bathroom door the entire time. 

 

***

 

“You should tell me next time,” he says when she walks out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around her body and rubbing at her hair with another. 

Sarah grimaces at him. “I don't owe you anything, just because– “ 

He shakes his head, ignores the small twinge of hurt at her insistence to keep him at arm's length. “This isn't about that. But we're a team now. You, me, and uh, Pops. We're a unit. We take care of each other. I can't do that if you're not telling me when you're sick.” 

She finishes toweling her hair and turns to throw the towel back into the bathroom, comes to sit down next to him. Her expression doesn't give away her thoughts; it changes and shifts as he watches her consider what he just said. 

Kyle jumps a little when she puts her head on his shoulder, her hair still wet enough that he feels the dampness seep into his shirt. 

“Thank you,” she murmurs. “For last night.” She pauses and places a hand on his thigh, rubbing up and down. “Baby steps, okay?” 

He holds himself still, closes his eyes, and breathes in the scent of her shampoo. “Yeah. Sure.” 

Neither of them have a playbook for this kinda thing yet, for a _relationship_. But they took down Skynet together. The saved the world. They can figure this out, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://lostemotion.tumblr.com).


End file.
